


Shinigami's Kiss

by quicksylver28



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Multi, Unfinished work- Don't know if i will continue this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 10:30:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2147355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksylver28/pseuds/quicksylver28
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Way back When Fic</p><p> </p><p>Hey Minna-san. I usually don't like to put up works in progress but I'm trying something new. Maybe if one part is posted I'll be inspired to write and post more. Well... here goes. 	</p><p> </p><p>This fic is 2x5 with lots of angst, language and Shounen ai to come. oh... yeah, I don't own gundam wing (sigh)and no unauthorised posting please... .Arigato!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shinigami's Kiss

Prologue

 

The wounded warrior staggered over the scorched battlefield, stumbling over the bodies of dead and dying soldiers, lying helpless, their clothes soaked in pools of blood. The heated blood of his countrymen and the enemy filth they had battled so hard to drive into the foreign seas from whence they had come. His ebony hair that had shone like the finest silk now hung in a ragged plait, crusted with sweat and dried blood.

His armor long since discarded, he roamed the field in his breeches and a ripped and bloody shirt, the gashes on his torso still bleeding. With young eyes hardened by the harsh reality of war, he searched death's rich and horrible harvest for a familiar face. A face that was stern in the heat of battle, humble in the home and passionate in private chambers.

He still remembered the look they had exchanged before she mounted her horse, a huge black stallion as proud and fiery tempered as she was. It had been a look of respect, love and perhaps a little fear. Now he searched for her with that same fear, stumbling over corpses with his broken sword in hand. A feeling of anxiety grew in his chest until he ran from body to body turning them over, searching their faces. But none of them were hers.

Sobs of desperation stuck in his throat as he clawed at each fallen warrior frantically, sinking deeper when each one revealed itself a stranger. Suddenly a hand grabbed at his ankle and he went down, face first onto the blood soaked earth. It was an enemy soldier, delirious from the wounds he had received. The warrior screamed and slashed at the arm blindly, ceasing only when the limb was nothing but ripped flesh hanging on bone.

His heart racing, he swallowed deep breaths of air and collapsed against a dead horse. It was then that he saw it, her standard. The golden dragon that was the symbol of her clan though ragged and soiled, still shone like a beacon to him. He struggled to stand; leaning against the dead animal's back to get a better view.

There she was, her sword still in hand where she had fallen. Her hair had become unbound and now flowed like water around face. Her chest plate had been ripped off and the bloodied cloth of her blouse billowed in the chill wind. He screamed her name, his voice echoing over the somber scene.

Slowly she turned her head and their eyes met. She was alive! Barely but alive none the less. Summoning the rest of his strength he started toward her, the loss of blood weakening him. He stumbled once more and cursed himself, his weakness.

He looked up. A cloaked figure was slowly moving across the field, touching the bodies of the fallen with soft hands. It's face was shrouded in darkness as was the body but the warrior knew who it was. He stared at the figure in black and then looked to his love.

She had also turned to stare at the stranger; her mouth working soundlessly as it drew closer. The warrior could do nothing but watch as the stranger gently took her hand in his, pressing the other over her eyes.

Slowly, the last of her life force flowed out of her and into the dark folds of the cloak. She was dead. Gripping the handle of his blade with both hands, the warrior screamed in agony and prepared to plunge the broken blade into his own broken heart.

The pain was too much to live with. His reason for living was dead and he would soon join her. He raised the sword above his head and froze. Standing before him was the shrouded figure, waiting in silence. He looked up and faltered, it was waiting for him.

Waiting in silence for him to do it's job. Hatred swelled in the young warrior's heart. He would not give it the satisfaction, sacrificing himself like the lamb. No, he would not die today. He would not go quietly or blindly into oblivion.

With a growl he cast the broken blade to the muddy ground and forced himself to stand, using a discarded spear for support. He looked straight into the stranger's eyes and gasped, they were as purple as the violets that grew wild and free along the edge of the battlefield. Suddenly the figure took a step back and turned to walk away.

The warrior cursed and glared at it's back as it retreated only to collapse from exhaustion as soon as it was out of sight. As darkness enveloped him, all the anger and sorrows slipped away, leaving him with nothing but the pure hatred that burned in his shattered heart.

 


End file.
